


Relative

by Merit



Category: The Divine Cities Series - Robert Jackson Bennett
Genre: Gen, Politics, Pre-Series, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: Ashara could still be useful.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerch/gifts).



The water was steadily dripping on Shara's head as she contemplated her situation. Her glasses, hanging crookedly off one ear, were fogged and the world was hopelessly blurred beyond them. The air smelled dank and musty and she suspected she was several yards underground. There was a shaft of light that let Shara know the rough outlines of what was around her, but no detail.

The rope was tied tightly around her wrists, behind her of course, and the water had crept down her spine and into the ropes. They were stiff and even if Shara could feel her fingers – she couldn't, which was mildly concerning – she didn't have high hopes of unraveling the ropes.

She breathed out carefully, the wound on her cheek warning her that any more strenuous actions would be ill advised. She shifted however ignoring the sharp pangs alighting down her arms and stretched her toes. She was still wearing shoes and nestled against her big toe was the reason why she stuck underground.

At least she wasn't going to die for nothing.

 

* * *

 

Ashara wants something again.

Her office smells of the incense lit hours ago by one of her assistants. Vinya sits slowly in her chair, plush leather embracing her closer than any lover, looking over her desk. Scattered are reports from Ashara, from notes other spies _about_ her dear niece, dull treatises.

Ashara always wants something.

The smell is distracting, too sweet, and Vinya makes a note to chastise the girl. Gently, naturally, her mother is a deputy minister in the agriculture department and they've been producing such interesting research. Vinya only allows the best to serve her.

Ashara wants to come home.

Almost too interesting for Vinya's tastes. There are suggestions in their papers on agricultural practices on the Continent, dry stuff, an audience of a dozen if they're lucky. The hint of the Divine. Oh Vinya has ideas of where it might have come from. And she suspects the deputy minister has been quietly encouraging things. Soft fool.

There are a few gaps in the history books, countless soldiers who survived the destruction of the Continent who might have brought over a souvenir, a folio. Foolish, but they were common stock, you couldn't expect much out of them. Or perhaps it was something that survived the purge after her illustrious ancestor slayed the gods.

Ashara can't come home.

Without Ashara, being a valiant spy, adequate soldier and shoddy diplomat over in the Continent, Vinya may have missed the hints completely. But she's a Komayd and _Vinya_ raised her. Even when Ashara is stumbling around, she has a careful regard of things, making note of things that mean nothing to almost everyone.

Vinya runs her hands over the papers in front of her, the information surrendering itself to her. She needs more information, she decides. If she's going to order the execution of a promising politician, parliament will want more than a few stolen folios of Divine madness. Half of the important houses have something similar stashed away, Vinya included. Nothing that would ever be mentioned in polite company.

When Ashara appears, she is small and hollow eyed.

Vinya smiles.

 

* * *

 

Vinya must have come from a party, because there were jewels glittering at her neck, her ears, her nose, dark kohl rimming her eyes as she shuffled through several files before looking over to Shara and smiling. She had won many friends that way, Shara thought, leaning closer to her aunt though they were a sea, a Continent apart. The loss tore at Shara deeply.

“More funds?” She murmured, tapping at a file, hand obscuring the title, the contents. “You requested more just last month.”

“There were unexpected consequences of the Krasnyy operation,” Shara murmured, nails digging into the palms of her hands.

“Oh yes. Twelve people dead. Tragedy, of course, but they live such short lives these days,” Vinya said, switching to another file. “A rather short report, no?” She waved a sheet of paper, too fast for Shara to read anything properly if she hadn't filed the report herself. She swallowed, following the trajectory.

“The Divine traces were stronger than expected,” Shara said, shrugging. Vinya's eyes twitched and she placed the sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. Vinya must have a fire going, her wooden desk was lit up with warm lustres, Vinya's hair glowing red, gold jewelry shimmering. “As previously discussed the second, unofficial report, will be sent through when the line is secure.”

“Hmm,” Vinya said, “They won't like these short reports,” she was tracing the area where Shara had signed her name, committing a Komayd to the lies. “All that money and this is the result,” Vinya laughed, sweetly but it sent daggers down Shara's spine. She looked directly at Shara, sympathy in her eyes, almost enough to bring Shara to tears. “It'll count against you, even if I argue till the sun rises.”

Shara lowered her head.

“Oh don't worry too much!” Vinya said, laughing again. “I'll argue till the sun sets and rises again.”

Shara tried a tentative smile.

Vinya leaned forward, eyes like jewel, like stars in an expansive night sky. “But there is one more thing that you must do for me – for our home,” she murmured.

Shara's heart leapt in her chest.

 

* * *

 

Shara had counted two thousand, three hundred and twenty eight water droplets falling – largely on her head, though a few contrary ones had slid down her neck, pooling at the base of her spine – before giving up out of sheer boredom. That left her impending death which was continuing to be far more boring than she had imagined.

She should have hoped for an explosion. That would have been over relatively quickly and would have saved on funeral expenses. Oh if she received one. She supposed her enemies wouldn't be inclined to treat her body with much respect and since her presence wasn't officially sanctioned by the Foreign Ministry, her compatriots would probably bury her somewhere discreet.

She'd never go home.

Shara breathed out, fogging up her glasses further, but as she could barely see anything, she tolerated it.

When the fighting started, the sounds at least relieved her boredom. Shara peered upwards but other than the light occasionally flashing as people crossed it, she couldn't see anything. Someone shrieked, high pitched and young, that was cut off suddenly. There was thump, heard through the stone and suddenly silence reigned once more.

The shaft of light in front of wavered, she tensed, fingers clenching around rope. She shifted, squinting. Shara hoped the person wasn't particularly partial to torture. She had been trained to resist but that didn't meant she _liked_ the pain.

“Tch,” Sigrud grunted and Shara relaxed. Minutely. Whoever had placed her here could be behind him. Though they were very stupid if they had let Sigrud live. “It is very slippery down here. Like fighting giant eels.”

Perhaps not.

“I'm soaked. I hope you have a hot bath up there,” Shara said, wriggling her hands. “And a knife?”

In the dim light Shara supposed she could see straight through Sigrud's pale grey eye.

“I have a knife,” he said after a careful pause. She didn't notice the rope coming undone at first, but then feeling starting returning to her fingers – sharp, stabbing pains like knives under nails.

“Thank you,” Shara said, standing. With the two of them standing, Sigrud crouching to avoid the sharp rocks ahead, there was barely seemed any room at all. He was close enough that his breath was also fogging her glasses. She reached up, adjusting them, and after a few moments her fingers even decided to obey her. “Have much trouble?”

“They're young, mostly,” Sigrud said, shrugging dismissively.

On Shara's left hand, there was a splotch of red. His hand must have touched hers, cutting her free.

“Pity,” Shara said. “Smarter than average young people, though,” she murmured, as Sigrud crawled out of the cave she had been stashed in. When he was free, he leaned over the edge, face haloed by light, vicious enough to be a companion of Voortya. The rope he threw down had a convenient toe hold. Shara didn't quite trust her hands currently.

“Dead children,” Sigrud said, as she surfaced. He hadn't even grunted pulling her up. Shara didn't pale as she surveyed the bodies around her.

“You've searched them?”

He shrugged. “Briefly. I wondered if you were still alive.”

Shara nodded, rolling up her sleeves. There wasn't anything that serious on them. Oh a few Divine scraps of paper, nonsense words corrupted of meaning, that would have gotten them seriously fined or a short term of imprisonment but nothing that should have involved her and Sigrud.

Except. She took off her boot and the item tumbled out, innocuously enough.

“We'd better get back to the barracks,” Shara said, rolling the item over in her hand.

Sigrud gave it a disinterested stare.

“Apparently it is quite important,” Shara said, placing it in one of her pockets. The wind rattled past her, wet clothes clinging closer.

Sigrud was silent on the journey back.

Shara's tongue felt like ash in her mouth.


End file.
